didn’t give no challenge, no formal declaration of feud, nothin’. He just shot her.’ He couldn’t stop his voice shaking.
The bolt shatters her skull. Taro feels something soft and warm spatter his face. Her body flops onto the nets, then slips slowly, slowly, through. Taro looks on, unable to move. The boltgun doesn’t have the range to hit him across the common-room and the Screamer is looking around for the safest way round the floor-gap. His head swings at a noise outside. He opens his mouth again.
Taro’s last thought before the assassin’s sonics knock him out is to silently make the promise he tried to fulfil in Confederacy Square: I’ll kill you! I swear it!
Reliving Malia’s death now brought the anger back. ‘Sirrah, I know I was a fool,’ Taro admitted, ‘but I’d never betray me City. He killed an Angel fer no reason, here , in our City. By the rules of the Concord you gotta call feud on him fer that, or at least tell the Yazil League so they can!’
‘Do not presume to tell me the rules of the Concord.’ The Minister’s cold dismissal cut through Taro’s anger.
‘I’m sorry, sirrah. I forgot meself.’
‘Quite so. And have you forgotten any more details you think I should perhaps know?’
‘No, sirrah. That’s all. I’ll take the rap, whatever punishment you’ve decided for me.’ Taro stood a little straighter as he spoke.
‘I think you have already suffered enough for your mistake. Nothing can change what was done. Your shame is understandable. However, this news does not alter your mission, which is to watch Nual and report on her. Malia’s death is not yet common knowledge, so you may still be able to trade on your heritage to find information.’
‘What about the Screamer, Scarrion?’
‘Scarrion is not your problem. If you are lucky, you will never meet him again. You must forget the past; your future is mine, as my spy. I await your next report.’
Taro wasn’t sure whether the Minister had gone until the soft voice stated, ‘Thank you for using the City-com network,’ and the adverts started playing round the walls again.
He ducked back out of the booth and looked at the bracelet on his wrist. It was still valid, and there was a small balance left: enough to buy him a decent meal, or maybe a pedicab ride to save his aching legs. He thought for a moment, and realised he had another use for it.
CHAPTER SIX
As the pedicab pulled away down the tree-lined avenue, Shamal Binu leaned towards Elarn and said conspiratorially, ‘Meeting Consul Vidoran like that is quite a start to your visit.’
Elarn remembered where she had heard the name now: among the media dumps from Vellern there had been several adverts, calling for this man’s death: ‘Consul Vidoran - who’s he really working for? Not the people!’ Another had been less subtle: ‘Remove Vidoran now! His time has come!’
She turned back to the agent, trying not to flinch at the woman’s constant invasion of her personal space, and asked, ‘So, what has he done? To have people want to . . . remove him , I mean.’
Medame Binu waved a hand vaguely, feathers swishing. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you in detail, my dear - I can’t say I follow the Concord that closely. He made some trade concession to Yazil, or something like that - just the usual political wheeler-dealing. I doubt it would have put him on the hot-list if we weren’t hosting the Assembly. He must have annoyed some powerful people, though. I can’t remember the last time so much advertising space was assigned to one hot-list member.’
‘The hot-list being the people eligible to be “removed”?’ Elarn tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice.
‘Precisely.’ Medame Binu smiled, apparently delighted that this primitive offworlder had made the effort to acquaint herself with sophisticated City customs.
They were clear of the trees now,
The bolt shatters her skull. Taro feels something soft and warm spatter his face. Her body flops onto the nets, then slips slowly, slowly, through. Taro looks on, unable to move. The boltgun doesn’t have the range to hit him across the common-room and the Screamer is looking around for the safest way round the floor-gap. His head swings at a noise outside. He opens his mouth again.
Taro’s last thought before the assassin’s sonics knock him out is to silently make the promise he tried to fulfil in Confederacy Square: I’ll kill you! I swear it!
Reliving Malia’s death now brought the anger back. ‘Sirrah, I know I was a fool,’ Taro admitted, ‘but I’d never betray me City. He killed an Angel fer no reason, here , in our City. By the rules of the Concord you gotta call feud on him fer that, or at least tell the Yazil League so they can!’
‘Do not presume to tell me the rules of the Concord.’ The Minister’s cold dismissal cut through Taro’s anger.
‘I’m sorry, sirrah. I forgot meself.’
‘Quite so. And have you forgotten any more details you think I should perhaps know?’
‘No, sirrah. That’s all. I’ll take the rap, whatever punishment you’ve decided for me.’ Taro stood a little straighter as he spoke.
‘I think you have already suffered enough for your mistake. Nothing can change what was done. Your shame is understandable. However, this news does not alter your mission, which is to watch Nual and report on her. Malia’s death is not yet common knowledge, so you may still be able to trade on your heritage to find information.’
‘What about the Screamer, Scarrion?’
‘Scarrion is not your problem. If you are lucky, you will never meet him again. You must forget the past; your future is mine, as my spy. I await your next report.’
Taro wasn’t sure whether the Minister had gone until the soft voice stated, ‘Thank you for using the City-com network,’ and the adverts started playing round the walls again.
He ducked back out of the booth and looked at the bracelet on his wrist. It was still valid, and there was a small balance left: enough to buy him a decent meal, or maybe a pedicab ride to save his aching legs. He thought for a moment, and realised he had another use for it.
CHAPTER SIX
As the pedicab pulled away down the tree-lined avenue, Shamal Binu leaned towards Elarn and said conspiratorially, ‘Meeting Consul Vidoran like that is quite a start to your visit.’
Elarn remembered where she had heard the name now: among the media dumps from Vellern there had been several adverts, calling for this man’s death: ‘Consul Vidoran - who’s he really working for? Not the people!’ Another had been less subtle: ‘Remove Vidoran now! His time has come!’
She turned back to the agent, trying not to flinch at the woman’s constant invasion of her personal space, and asked, ‘So, what has he done? To have people want to . . . remove him , I mean.’
Medame Binu waved a hand vaguely, feathers swishing. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you in detail, my dear - I can’t say I follow the Concord that closely. He made some trade concession to Yazil, or something like that - just the usual political wheeler-dealing. I doubt it would have put him on the hot-list if we weren’t hosting the Assembly. He must have annoyed some powerful people, though. I can’t remember the last time so much advertising space was assigned to one hot-list member.’
‘The hot-list being the people eligible to be “removed”?’ Elarn tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice.
‘Precisely.’ Medame Binu smiled, apparently delighted that this primitive offworlder had made the effort to acquaint herself with sophisticated City customs.
They were clear of the trees now,
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